THEOS

He smiled.

Each and every one of them standing in the field, found themselves unable to tear their eyes away from the benevolent god in the sky. Unable to look away from him. How could they, when their lord was smiling upon them with such mercy? With such beauty? They needed to be grateful. They had to be.

His place above them was proper, and suddenly not being able to fly himself only made sense to Luke in a way it hadn’t before. It wasn’t right, after all, for someone like him to share space with a being that was perfect in every way. A being that had seen more, done more, was more.

He felt silly for even trying. For even daring to think that what he did was okay. He should be punished for even thinking of tainting the air with his presence. How dare he? How dare he possess such hubris? How could he even allow himself to attempt becoming a being that great? Him? A petty mortal. Some guy who had lived and died on earth without doing anything worthy of note, could become a god? There wasn’t anything more ridiculous in the universe.

I can’t believe I even wanted to fly, when I should be worshi—

No. Something solidified within him, within his soul, and within his mana. A seed of resolve. Its very essence hated what he had just been about to think. It was angry. Angry that he had even considered it. Worship was not the path of a cultivator. It couldn’t be.

1. His thoughts screamed at him. Louder than they had ever been, they demanded he not give in.

The veins on his forehead and temples bulged, while nervous sweat formed beads on his brow and slid down his face. He felt hot, and his robes stuck to the moist skin of his back, but this time it had nothing to do with heat.

He bit down on his tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and then harder still. He reveled in the pain, and used it to find clarity. Not letting up even as his mouth filled with blood. He was unwilling to let it spill down, so he swallowed it. He would not show that thing in the sky the price he had paid for his own thoughts.

One smile and he had been ready to prostrate himself before the Olympian. It terrified him as much as it filled him with rage. It was one thing to have his back forcibly bent under the weight of someone else's power. Arke could dominate him, because she was stronger than he was. She could kill him as easily as she could breathe. But his mind was his own, free to rebel, curse, and revile her existence for as long as his soul was his.

Luke may have respected a god's strength and ability, but he chose then and there that he would never worship one. Not after what he had seen. Those that wielded it deserved caution, much like a rabid animal– not adoration. Anything more than that had to be earned with action and deeds. No matter how strong they were. Aeolus, Arke, and even the Rebel were proof of that.

Tearing his eyes away from the deity, he, without turning his head, looked at the other competitors. Like he had been moments ago, they were staring at him with wide adoring eyes. Like puppies, waiting patiently for their owner to hand them a treat.

Luke bit his own tongue harder in response. but try as he might, his gaze was once again drawn back to the god. Whether it was some strange force, or his own morbid curiosity, he didn’t know.

His eyes found the god’s and found them staring back at him. Taking a deep breath, he hardened his gaze, and widened his stance. Reaching into his storage ring, he retrieved Maximus and pointed the blade at him in challenge. It was a dumb decision, entirely driven by ego, but he needed the god to know that he would not be bullied. Even if he had to die for it. His pride as a cultivator would accept nothing less, and not doing so, would mean admitting defeat. Admitting that he would never be as good as him.

Deep in his heart, he knew he would be better. Not today, not soon, but he would.

Haphaestus’s continued to stare at him, and his smile stretched into an approving grin. Like an excited child, his hand crept up, and he rested a single finger vertically across his lips. Immediately, the action doused the rage burning inside Luke.

The god’s meaning was clear.

Swallowing the mixture of saliva and blood in his mouth, he nodded. The god winked, and turned away. Suddenly feeling awkward, Luke lowered his sword.

Was that a test?

In front of him, Spiros lifted the but of his spear off the ground, and in a single smooth movement, twirled the golden shaft in a half circle, and silently slammed the sharpened head into his sandals clad feet, impaling himself. Having broken free of the divine thrall, he stared defiantly into the sky. Completely oblivious to the blood oozing from his feet and staining the grass red, and the spear still lodged into it.

Hephaestus once again nodded, and made the same gesture. Asking him to stay quiet. Not that the rest of those on the field noticed, and if they had, they were too far into the trance to care.

A moment later, Lukeus, still atop of Nutbutter, punched himself so hard, he fell face first off his pegasus. Rose’s hand once again caught flame, but this time she brought it to her neck, and grit her teeth.

Rex balled his fist, and punched himself between his legs as hard as he could. He dropped to his knees, and Luke cracked an uneasy grin at the sight.

That’s one way to do that I guess.

A flash of light attracted his attention, and he grinned slightly as a dagger appeared in Arya’s hand. She slammed it into her palm.

Similar scenes played out all across the field, as one after another, the contestants inflicted some level of damage onto themselves, and broke free of the god’s divine thrall.

In the Sky, Hephaestus silently watched the scene unfold, and then without warning, clapped his hands. Those who were still caught in the trance, shook their heads clear and looked around confused. A few even rubbed their eyes, like they had just awoken from a long sleep.

“You fail, go home.” The god said, his voice barely above a whisper, but heard clearly by all of them.

Luke watched as Nikitas suddenly erupted with an orange and red light, and wearing a miserable expression on his face– vanished. A scene that played out all across the grassy field.

Nearly nine thousand warriors, each of them prodigies who had achieved their rank at an extremely young age, had been eliminated. Mere minutes after arriving. Leaving those that remained, blinking in surprise.

Well, that was fast, Luke thought nervously.

“The rest of you I welcome to Vulcan. My home.” The god said, stretching his hands out to the side, and spinning in a slow circle. Coming to a slow stop, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. Having taken a moment to smell the grass, he smiled down on them.

In front of each of them, appeared a vial, filled with glimmering blue fluid. Luke recognized it as a Warrior-tier healing potion, but of obviously higher quality than any he had ever seen before. The vial itself looked like it was made from diamond, while the cork was a diamond as far as Luke could tell, and the fluid itself was so rich in color, that it made the rest he had seen seem like trash.

“Drink and be healed.” The god commanded, and immediately Spiros ripped his spear from his foot, and stabbed into the ground. Uncorking the vial, he downed it in a single gulp.

Unable to help himself from smiling at his fast action, Luke did the same. Waves of cool healing energy traveled through every inch of his body, stitched his tongue back together, replaced the coppery taste of blood with something that was distinctly fruity, and the remaining energy settled lightly into his gut. Waiting to heal his next injury.

That’s… that’s not a Warrior-tier potion is it? Luke thought numbly, observing the energy within him. Normal potions didn’t linger. Their effects washed through the person who drank them, and faded in a few seconds to a few minutes, depending on how fast they were swallowed.

Sharing a confused glance with Lukeus who was staring at his now empty vial with wonder, they shrugged before turning back to the god in the sky. He waited patiently as the rest of the contestants drank their potions.

“Your friends that failed, will never be gods. They will never ascend past the Warrior-tier. Their will is too weak. Those of you that remain. Those of you who hated me, might go further. So long of course, as your spirits aren’t broken, and you continue to live. Each of you who stands here has the one quality essential to rise through the tiers– pride. What you felt was neither technique, nor artifact, but my presence. The mere weight of my existence. Nearly all mortals, most all warriors, and even some heroes, when exposed to a being such as I, cannot help but surrender. Give up, and serve. It is not a choice that they make, but the core of who they are. And those who are gone, are those that will bend their knees rather than die. You, who are still present when faced with a choice between servitude and defiance, would rather die than bend knee.”

He seemed delighted at that.

“Many wonder why us gods hold this tournament. Why we prevent mortals from cultivating. Why we make them live in ignorance. You will hear a different answer, with every person or even every god you ask, and that is only right. There are many answers and many reasons. Among them, however, is one that I believe to be paramount. Cultivators are those that struggle. If a mortal is so satisfied with his existence, that he never seeks the world thinly veiled behind shallow walls begging to be looked beyond, questioned, and conquered, then he should not cultivate. Cultivating is the privilege of the curious and the brave. Of those that will grasp opportunity, no matter the risk. It is why those that seek answers, are never turned away. It is why, each of your sects, kingdoms, and families have institutions in place for accepting all mortals who try their hands at finding answers, and to welcome into the fold and not punish those that learn the truth after having sought it. Those who are curious, however, are all greeted with the same test. It is why those that know the secret are exiled if they do not progress. That which you call the midstage of the Mortal-tier, is the first, and perhaps greatest barrier to shedding the mortal coil. Afterall, curiosity without determination and resolve, is useless.” He took another deep breath, and solemnly regarded the assembled warriors.

Luke’s mind flashed back to the day he died, and he found perhaps the answer to that single question that had bothered him since he had been chosen by the Seed.

It picked me, because it knew I would say yes. I was the only soul there that was stupid enough to watch a demented god eat the souls of the dead, and then take it from the women that killed him.

“With that, we shall let the games begin.”

Luke and all the remaining warriors were engulfed in a red and orange glow. The world flickered away, and when they emerged, it was at the foot of a silver pyramid that stretched so far into the sky, it pierced the clouds, and so thick, it encompassed the horizon. Preventing them from even seeing its full shape.

Stairs, cut through the middle, and in a straight line, climbed to its peak.

“You have proven to me that you are not weak of will. Now, you will show me how strong your will is when tested against others who do not falter when pitted against even the divine. Climb until there are only a hundred of you left.” Hephaestus said, his voice echoing down from the peak of the pyramid, where he sat on his throne– waiting.

The thousands gathered at the bottom, immediately broke into murmurs.

“Nuttbutter’s gone!” Lukeus said, suddenly.

“So is Blinky!”

“The competition is for us, not your mounts.” Rose muttered under her breath, brushing past them, and onto the steps.

Luke shook his head, and joined her, patting the brothers on the back as he walked past them. His gaze darted between all the contestants, before landing on Spiros and Arya, only a few feet in front of him.

“I have this test in the bag.” Spiros said excitedly.

“Just don’t poop your pants in front of a god.” She replied.

“...I’ll do what I need to.”

Luke burst into laughter.